


A Gracious Introduction

by mistyzj



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Explicit Language, F/M, Pre-Relationship, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-16
Updated: 2016-06-27
Packaged: 2018-05-14 06:50:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5733724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistyzj/pseuds/mistyzj
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Varric Tethras {the storyteller) and Cassandra Pentaghast (the Seeker) were at odds with each other from the beginning  (or so everyone thought).  It all began in Kirkwall just before the world fell apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written anything in over a decade and I've never written fan fiction before. I've definitely never let anyone other than close friends read anything I've written. I do hope someone likes to read this as much I've enjoyed writing it (there will be more chapters and we'll see what happens from there).

The Champion of Kirkwall was nowhere to be found.

Fires still burned in the city – new fires, old fires…who knew anymore. Piles of rubble were all that remained of half of Kirkwall and there was a pile of ash where the Chantry once stood. The stench of death and fear was a tangible thing. It was a blanket over the once bright city that kept nobody warm or safe. The people who remained were angry and those that were not angry were too hungry to feel much of anything. Even weeks after the explosion and all of the fighting between mages and templars there was still too much confusion.

Just a few hours south of Kirkwall, there was a small tavern unscathed by the recent troubles. The Painted Pony was never too busy nor too empty in the best of times, but tonight it was more crowded than usual. The ale flowed freely and the fireplace crackled almost cheerfully. The barmaid weaved between tables and dodged a half-hearted wayward hand. Despite the cheery fire and crush of patrons, the conversation was hushed and stilted. The building was unblemished on the outside, but the people gathered inside reflected the aftermath of the conflict and the fear and the death…and the conversations remained muted.

There was barely a reaction when a dozen armed men in chantry armor entered and began a search. And there was barely a murmur an hour later when they left escorting several dwarves.

They traveled as far as the small encampment on the grounds of the Painted Pony. The flags and markings on the tents proclaimed the occupants as chantry, but the smallest tent was marked with a symbol for the Seekers of Truth. Cassandra Pentaghast paced inside the command tent angrily even as her men returned with their prisoners. Torches sputtered to life in order to hold the oncoming night at bay and she paused her pacing at the sudden bustle of activity outside. Horses, men mumbling and a few curt shouts filtered into the tent, muffled by the canvas. There was a quiet rustling as the flap was pulled back and a scout entered with what she hoped was good news.

“Report,” she commanded before the man fully entered.

“We found seven dwarves in that tavern, but none of them answer to the name Varric Tethras.” He paused waiting for an answer other than his commander’s grimace.

“That you know,” she rubbed her temples with her right hand and added with more force, “Separate them all. Bind and guard them, but do not harm them. I will interrogate them all.” Cassandra dismissed the scout with a wave. There were noises from outside as she heard her men following her orders.

Glancing around the tent her eyes settled on the small statue of Andraste on the intricately carved table she used for writing reports. There was also a large tome with “Champion of Kirkwall” scrawled in bold letters across the cover on the table, but she ignored the book and gazed at the statue. She took a few steps closer and bowed her head and began reciting the Chant of Light in her head. This was always the best way to prepare for an interrogation – focusing all of her anger and impatience forward. Clearing doubts. Replacing emotion with reason.

Cassandra drew in a breath, grabbed her cloak from a peg on the main tent pole and exited.

 

The dwarf seated in the tent was everything she expected a dwarf to be – black, coarse hair in elaborate braids and matching beard. Stocky build with a large stomach straining against a wide belt. His clothing sturdy, stained and brown. His square hands bound in front of him. Black eyes that glared at her.

“Maker,” she muttered to herself, then focused on her prisoner, “Tell me what you know of Varric Tethras.” Cassandra demanded of the dwarf, her Nevarran accent clipping her words.

The dwarf simply glared back.

“I must find him. Tell me what you know,” she demanded a second time.

“Don’t know no Varric Tethras.”

Cassandra’s eyebrows drew together in annoyance for a moment, then she calmly resumed. She questioned and demanded information from the dwarf for a short time before determining he knew nothing. She commanded the guards to bring in the next dwarf. She hoped one of them would have some information.

The next one was brought into the tent and pushed roughly into the wooden chair in the middle of the space. He landed heavily, almost falling out and knocking it over, but he finally settled in. She was struck by how similar he was to the first one she questioned. Other than the braids being in different places and carrying a little less weight, he was exactly the same. And he knew exactly nothing as well.

After questioning the fifth dwarf, Cassandra wondered if any of the information provided to her by Leliana’s spies was accurate. Which was impossible, Leliana was always accurate. Frighteningly so.

Cassandra closed her eyes and began the Chant of Light in her head once more to clear her thoughts. She rubbed her temples to ease some of the tension. Hours of contempt or outright stupidity from the captured dwarves was weighing on her. The reports indicated that one of these dwarves was Varric Tethras – companion and friend to the Champion of Kirkwall.

Unfortunately, none of these dwarves were the companion of a hero - the storyteller she heard about, the author she read. She desperately needed him to be one of them. He had to know where the Champion was. The Divine needed the Champion. Thedas needed the Champion. She needed the Champion…they all needed the Champion. She needed someone to alleviate some of the burden. To shoulder some of…of…this mess…the mages…the templars…the fighting…the chantry…her thoughts swirled in a indecipherable mess.

Deep breath. She had to find the Champion!

Her eyes were still closed when she heard the guards bring in the sixth dwarf and push him roughly into the chair. She steeled herself and prepared to focus her anger at her next prisoner. Her intense glare seemed to be the best method for extracting information out of the last five she interrogated and she wanted this over. Sleep never seemed so far off and her so in need of it. Exhaustion caused her thoughts to swirl once again, but with effort she stilled them. Cassandra opened her eyes and the prepared glare immediately morphed into another emotion as her eyebrows flew up in surprise.

There were so many things she noticed simultaneously that warred with her experience of the last five dwarves…of any dwarf. First, he did not sit in the chair, he sprawled across it with one leg draped over the arm and she had no doubt that if his hands were free they would be propped up behind his head. His hair was blonde and there were no braids in it or his…Maker…there was no beard. That caused a subtle intake of breath on her part when it registered. In all her life she never saw a male dwarf without a beard. After that detail, the tunic he wore seemed barely worth noting, but the bright red Orlesian silk and the delicate gold stitching cried out for attention.

All of those things marked him as singular, but the detail she finally settled on was the half-smile half-smirk on his face. Cassandra resettled the glare back on her features and took three determined steps toward him, expecting him to deflate as the others had.

His only reaction was a quirk of his right eyebrow. They made eye contact and she saw intelligence mixed with humor. The dwarf’s light eyes locked with her dark ones, studying her as much as she studied him. Her eyes trailed to the scar on the bridge of his nose, indicating that it had been broken (or worse) more than once. Then they wandered back to his eyes to watch him as he studied her.

His eyes trailed across her hairline, marking her short, dark hair and continued across her sharp cheekbones. Then they wandered to the Seeker of Truth symbol emblazoned on the chestplate of her armor. She saw a glimmer of recognition which was unusual as very few people outside of the Chantry were familiar with it. His eyes continued perusing her and maybe it was the exhaustion, but her focus momentarily wavered and her eyes slid down the front of his tunic which hung open to his waist.

“Find what you are SEEKING?” the dwarf’s question hung in the air with equal parts humor and innuendo.

Cassandra’s eyes snapped back to his even as she felt the blush spreading across her face. Unnerved and embarrassed, she spun on her heel and stormed out of the tent.

There was no doubt now – she had found Varric Tethras.

 

Cassandra stalked back to her tent almost knocking over one of her scouts. The rage in her stride cleared a path for her through the rest of her men as they scrambled out of her way. She nearly ripped the flap from her tent as she entered. Then she stood in the center of the space, fists clenched at her sides with fury rolling off her. After several ragged breaths, she began to calm and unclench her fists.

Then the low rumble of the dwarf’s voice reverberated in her head, “Find what you are SEEKING?” and all the rage came flooding back.

And her reaction.

Blushing like a maiden! At her age. Infuriating dwarf!

Cassandra finally calmed herself enough to leave her tent and issue commands. She spent a short amount of time making arrangements to release the other six prisoners and escort them back to the tavern where they were originally found. The Divine was counting on her to find the Champion of Kirkwall and there was no room for failure. So much was changing in Thedas and none of it for the best.

She would interrogate Varric Tethras tomorrow and after a few well-placed threats, she would have the information she required.

Simple.


	2. Don't Poke the Bear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading the first chapter and those kudos...awesome! I hope you all enjoy this next bit.

Varric let out the breath he was holding very slowly. The angry human woman left the tent and he was left with the distinct impression he just made a bad situation worse.

Not the first time for that.

Probably not the last, he amended.

There was not much in the tent other than the chair he occupied. His duster and pouches were not here and neither was Bianca, none of which surprised him. He contemplated the series of events that led him to this place. Hawke and Broody ought to be good and lost by now. Anders had better be good and lost…permanently. He frowned at that, he had too many fond memories of Blondie…Anders and he did not want to think of him kindly, not after the way things ended. None of that mattered though, he was still going through with his plan of being the biggest and brightest red herring in history. He glanced down at his red tunic and rolled his eyes. His life was starting to resemble one of his novels. The trashy ones.

Under other circumstances, Varric would be searching for a way to escape, but this was a unique situation and it was critical that he stay and talk. Even though he was leery of the angry woman and every fiber of his being screamed for him to get out of this place. When two scouts arrived to escort him to a small cart, he struck up a conversation. By the time they reached Kirkwall, they were all laughing and he made two new friends.

 

Morning came early.

Varric groaned and blinked at the morning sunlight filtering down from a small window high up on the wall. It was not a bright light, but it was cheery and annoying, making the room seem even smaller. He was attentive to his surroundings when they arrived the night before, but he was working on days, if not weeks, of too little sleep. This was a storeroom, unused and empty except for a small wooden stool and the human-sized cot that was both too big and too small for him. Not too far from Meredith’s office in the templar quarter if he remembered correctly.

A large yawn escaped him even as he shifted and attempted to find a more comfortable position on the narrow cot. Failing that, he sat up and scratched the stubble on his face and was reminded he needed a shave. A few more days of not shaving and he might have a proper beard, next he’d be braiding his hair and swinging an axe. He grimaced. This line of thought was too frivolous even for him at the moment. Varric dragged on his boots, ran his fingers through his hair and retied his ponytail even as he wished for a comb.

Footsteps approached in the corridor outside his room, which meant that it was time to start the show. His cheerful (if not completely sincere) smile was in place as the door opened, but it was not his two new friends from the night before. The smile faltered as he faintly recognized one of them and tried to place where. A thug from one of the gangs in Kirkwall maybe…but in Chantry armor? He chewed on that for a moment…an angry thug in Chantry armor... His focus snapped out of his head and back into the room. Make that two angry thugs with the anger directed at him.

Maker’s Balls this was going to hurt.

The beating was efficient and painful, but not bloody. One of the thugs leaned in close to snarl in his face, “All this shit is your fault, dwarf.”

Varric may have been born and raised in a human city and he knew a lot of humans had problems with dwarves (sometimes he had a problem with dwarves, so he could understand that), but he never heard the word “dwarf” leveled at him with such venom and hate. He assumed with the Chantry running things there would be lines drawn and not crossed, but hiring gangs? This was going to get ugly no matter what he did, but his course was set – he loved his friends and this was what he had to do.

Because, as the man said, it was all his fault.

The two men yanked him to his feet, out the door and down the corridor. He was not bleeding, but he knew tomorrow he would be one large bruise, dwarf-shaped. He tried moving his legs and taking some weight off his arms as they dragged him along, but their stride was too fast. Varric’s toes scraped along the floor and he tried again to get his legs under him, but with their height and his sore ribs there was nothing he could do. They reached the end of the hall and he was dumped in a mostly dark room on a stone chair. His head banged against the stone as he landed, making his ears ring.

“I’ve had gentler invitations,” he grumbled at the two men as they left.

Even with his ears ringing and ribs aching, Varric knew she was here - the angry woman from the night before. He only saw a human form at the edge of the torchlight, but he knew it was her. Something about that aura of fierce determination clearly defined her even if he could not see her face. A moment later, she stepped into the light holding a familiar book in her hand.

“I am Cassandra Pentaghast,” she announced proudly, “Seeker of the Chantry.”

Varric chuckled, recalling his comment to her the night before and her reaction. His humor returned to him in spite of the pain, “And, just uh, just what are you seeking?”

“The Champion,” she ignored his baiting.

“Which one?” he countered while fighting a grin.

“You know exactly why I’m here.” She lunged forward tossing the book at his face which he swatted, but he barely made contact with it as it bounced off his nose and landed in his lap. His ears rang louder and she was close to him now with a dagger at this throat, “Time to start talking, dwarf, they tell me you’re good at it.” With a single fluid motion, she buried the dagger in the book then she took a step back as her anger faded.

“What do you want to know?” Varric asked quietly.

“Everything, start at the beginning,” she answered, avoiding his eyes, but he caught the regret as her eyes flicked away. Her outburst made her uncomfortable and she was doing her best to hide it from him. An interesting observation he filed for another time.

Varric looked at the book in his lap, the one he wrote about his friend Hawke. He ran his thick fingers fondly across the page now impaled with a dagger and inhaled deeply.

“Hawke and her sister Bethany were outside Lothering just as the blight reached…”

Varric began at the beginning as the woman commanded. As he wove his tale, his hands began to move with his words. The battle with the darkspawn took on a life of its own and the woman watched him and listened intently. Then the serious look faded and was replaced by a wistfulness he did not realize she possessed. Varric stumbled for a moment mentally, then caught himself and continued the tale. She was no longer in this room with him, but out there in the story. He was enjoying himself, far more than he should, considering how close he came to being stabbed only moments before. The more he continued, the more her fascination grew and the more exaggerated the story became.

Then he launched into Hawke battling an ogre. Daggers flashed, magic crashed and the horde of darkspawn might actually overcome the sisters. Hawke’s dagger plunging into the ogre’s eye pulled a quiet gasp from her. Varric grinned and gestured even more wildly and then began a description of the dragon. The size, the flames, the roar, the…

Right about there is where he lost her.

“Bullshit!” Cassandra spat at him, “That’s not what really happened!”

“Does that not match the story you’ve heard, sseeker?” Varric asked sadly with cold emphasis on her title. He enjoyed spinning his story for the woman he glimpsed briefly a moment ago, unfortunately, the angry woman from last night who stabbed his book was back.

“I’m not interested in stories. I came to hear the truth.”

“What makes you think I know the truth?” Pain and more than a little sarcasm crept into his voice.

“Don’t lie to me!” the woman’s anger was obvious. “You knew her even before she became the Champion.”

“Even if I did, I don’t know where she is now.”

“Do you have any idea what’s at stake here?”

“Let me guess,” Varric’s emotions finally stretched too thin and snapped. There was a brief flash of Anders’ face and the explosion of the Chantry in his mind. He no longer tried to hide his contempt, “Your precious Chantry has fallen to pieces and put the entire world on the brink of war. You need the one person who can help you put it all back together again.”

“The Champion was at the heart of it when it all began.” The woman was almost pleading with him now, “If you can’t point me to her, tell me everything you know.”

“You aren’t afraid I’ll make it up as I go?” He narrowed his eyes, daring her to agree with him and partly warning her he was a liar.

“Not at all.”

Figures now she would see reason. He sighed, resigned to what came next. “You’ll need to hear the whole story.” Varric laced his fingers together and started his story from the beginning, but this time it was not animated, his voice flat and there was no magic in the words.

It went on for hours. He disconnected from his tale almost from the beginning because he could tell this story in his sleep. The words kept tumbling from his mouth, but he was watching her and trying to determine where this was going and how best to help Hawke. What did this woman want? What was she looking for? Nothing that spilled forth was not written down in the book, but she kept listening and he kept talking. But his throat was finally drying out and he tripped over words now. He coughed as much as spoke and tried to continue. Then he could no longer get the words out and paused to see if she took the hint.

“You do not…” she was interrupted by a loud growl followed by a gurgle as Varric’s stomach decided to assert itself.

He looked at the woman again, his lips twitching as he fought to hold back laughter. And then, because sometimes he had to make a bad situation worse, he winked at her.

“Uhk.” The disgusted noise came from the back of her throat as she shook her head and left the room.

Varric let the laughter spill out of him.


	3. Irritation

The dwarf’s laughter followed Cassandra down the hallway, at least until one of the guards just outside the room pulled the door closed. Her right hand clenched in a fist at her side even as she tried to reign in her rising temper. What was it about that dwarf? She had been in his presence for barely a day and already she lost control of herself twice...almost a third time. Something that never happened. She was known for her anger, but it was always focused. She was known for acting before thinking, but it was always with purpose. This dwarf made her lose focus and lash out as a child would.

And worst of all – the blushing. She could feel her cheeks begin to warm even thinking about it. Maker knew under the best of circumstances she was awkward and brusque with people, but that dwarf… She shoved the remainder of that thought out of her head.

Pausing to direct one of her men to bring food and water to the prisoner, she went in search of his belongings. She needed a break from interrogating him and maybe there was a clue among his possessions. Eventually she found them spread out across a low wooden table in a common room – several small leather pouches, a buckled knapsack, a worn leather duster and a dwarven contraption that looked like it might be some kind of crossbow. Was that the “Bianca” he referred to in his story? It looked more bulky than useful.

Cassandra reached for the knapsack and slowly undid a buckle when a female voice called out across the room, “Lady Pentaghast! Wait! Don’t!” Cassandra paused and waited for the scout to hurry across the room and join her at the table. A little breathless, the scout continued, “I’m sorry. It’s just that…we haven’t finished…um…” She was searching for the correct word and settled on, “…disarming everything yet.”

“Disarming?” Cassandra drew her hand back, a little confused.

“Well, not that anything exploded, but…” the scout glanced around, the beginning of a conspiratorial look on her face, “Stavros got bit twice! But he’s an ass, so it was the funniest...thing…ever...” her voice trailed off as she suddenly seemed to realize she was speaking with Cassandra Pentaghast and not just one of the other scouts.

“Explain ‘bit’.” Cassandra prompted when the younger woman paused.

“There seem to be…uh…traps? Hidden in the bag and we’re not sure where else.”

“Maker, what next with him.” Then she turned her attention to the scout, “Your name is Nima, correct?”

“Yes, My Lady,” the scout’s face brightened at mention of her name and her brown ponytail bobbed as she nodded.

“Can you remove the…whatever they are? I need to examine the contents. It is critical I understand this man I am questioning.”

“I can, My Lady, but it will take some time.”

“And please, will you call me Cassandra?” The scout went quiet and shifted nervously. Cassandra sighed, recognizing the problem, “or Seeker Pentaghast if you are more comfortable with that.” The scout brightened again and nodded eagerly. “Come find me when you are finished, Nima.”

 

A meal and a short walk later, Cassandra stood at the door to the room holding Varric Tethras. It took a moment to realize the guards were no longer present so she grabbed the handle and pushed through hurriedly, worried that somehow he escaped. The low rumble of his voice hit her as she entered the room, mingled with the laughter of several people. They all looked to her, stunned for a moment, as all conversation and laughter ceased. The dwarf sat in the stone chair, but he looked more like a king holding court than a prisoner. She scowled at him, he simply grinned back.

Cassandra crossed her arms in front of her and stood impassively at the doorway. Her instructions were to treat the dwarf as a “detained” guest and as such he was not to be harmed, but she did not mean for him to be treated as an “honored” celebrity. The two guards and three scouts quickly vacated the room, heads down and skirting around her - her presence the only chastising they required. The door clicked shut as the last one left.

“Will they be back later? I haven’t finished the story,” the dwarf asked innocently. She clenched a fist to keep her temper in check.

“No.”

He chuckled.

“Continue your story, dwarf.”

“Where did we leave off, sseeker?” Cassandra flinched inwardly. It was the second time he called her that and although he was not the first, she hated the way he said it. The drawn out ‘s’ was a hiss and there was a chill in his voice that he reserved for that word and only that word.

“You were entering a tavern called ‘The Blooming Rose’…”

“Tavern?” He exclaimed as he sputtered and laughed. “Not so much a tavern as a brothel.”

“Oh.”

“I could skip this part if it offends you.”

“It does not offend me. Your stalling irritates me.”

“You wound me,” he clasped his hands over his heart and fluttered his eyes at her.

“You are ridiculous. Continue the story!” Apparently food and an audience recharged his energy and he was more annoying than earlier.

“Alright,” she saw him wince in pain as he shifted in the chair, “alright.”

The dwarf picked up his tale again, but this time Cassandra was determined to remain detached. As much as he got under her skin, his stories were wonderful, magical even. She would never tell him that she read “The Champion of Kirkwall” twice already – once because it was her duty and a second time because it was a beautiful story. None of that mattered, she could not afford to get caught up in it like the first time. She affixed an impassive mask over her features as she listened. After a few hours, the plot of the story trickled to a halt, but the stream of words kept pouring out of the storyteller.

“You’re stalling again, dwarf.”

“Did I ever tell you how surprised I was to find out Broody had a sense of humor?” He ignored her observation and continued, “I thought all dwarves had beards. Where’s yours?” He was speaking in the voice he used when speaking as the elf, Fenris. Hawke and her friends all had unique voices, expressions, nicknames and after hours of hearing the story she knew them all.

“This is not the…”

He ignored her interruption and switched back to his own voice, “I misplaced it, along with my sense of dwarven pride and my gold-plated noble caste pin.”

“Stop this…”

He continued without pausing, his voice dropping lower, suddenly Fenris again, “I thought maybe it fell onto your chest.”

Cassandra barked out a sharp laugh, then exchanged a glance with the dwarf, neither believing what just happened.

Cassandra was the first to recover, “Why must everything be a joke with you?”

The dwarf considered her words and absently scrubbed his hand along the stubble on his jaw. He closed his eyes and drew in a long breath. Then he spoke as she never heard him before, very quiet and serious, “Not everything is easy.”

A silence filled the room and it waited for the both of them to move through it.

“Shit,” Varric was the first to end the silence, “you ruined a funny story.” He considered his words and sighed heavily, “I hate the Deep Roads. Maybe not nearly as much as I hate my brother Bartrand, but the Deep Roads…shit.” He inhaled deeply for a second time and began the story of the Deep Roads - what they found there and what should have stayed lost.

 

Cassandra returned to her quarters when Varric finished telling her the latest part of the story, but instead of celebrating receiving new information, she stood in the middle of the room unsure of what to do. Finally, something that was not written down in “The Champion of Kirkwall”. Finally something new. She could not celebrate this though, it would not help locate the Champion and it was too heartbreaking.

She crossed to her bed, sat down and ran her hand across the low table next to it, one of the few possessions she brought from Nevarra. It always traveled with her when possible and it always made her smile. The carvings depicted scenes from the fairy tales she loved as a girl, the ones her brother Anthony read to her. Memories of the two of them flooded her – riding horses through the woods, walking along the river in the summer, exploring their uncle’s house – so many memories.

What if the memories of her brother were not wonderful?

The dwarf’s brother not only tried to kill him, but locked him in a room in the Deep Roads so he could die slowly. All for the promise of gold. As sad as it was that Anthony was no longer alive, how much worse would it be not to have the memories? To actually hate the only family you had left?

Cassandra knew she was known for her anger, she was known for acting rashly, she was known for a lot of things, but what nobody knew was that sometimes she felt things too keenly. And this was one of those things.


	4. Not This Again

Morning came early (again).

Varric groaned and rolled to his back. “Maker take the morning and sodding human-sized cots,” he groused to the empty room. And he was right, today he was one large bruise, dwarf-shaped. He dangled his legs off the edge of the cot, swung them a few times to use the momentum to fling himself upright. He was definitely getting too old for this shit.

Yesterday continued to repeat itself as he dragged his boots on, straightened his ponytail and heard footsteps in the corridor. He hoped that signaled the end of the deja vu, but no, his life was never that simple. The same two thugs from yesterday entered, and while the beating was the same, it hurt more the second time around.

“You hit like an Orlesian noble.” He really needed to learn how to stop himself.

A large fist smashed into his nose as the room flashed white. Growing up in Kirkwall taught him how to take a punch so he did not lose consciousness, he shook his head to try to clear it while the two men hauled him out the door and down the corridor.

Same dark room.

Same stone chair.

Same…no, she was not in the room, he noted as the thugs left. That was new. Varric stood and wandered slowly around the room, half examining his surroundings and half trying to work a knot out of his shoulder. At least his nose was not broken. Before he finished circling the room he heard the door open behind him, but he knew it was her without turning.

“What are you doing?” the woman asked.

Varric pondered the question a moment. “Pondering.” He shrugged. Then he turned to face her, surprised that her voice sounded neither angry or impatient, just tired.

“You were at the…”

“I know where I left off,” he snapped at her. Again she surprised him by simply giving him an intense look – no biting retort. Then he began the story of the hidden ancient thaig and the bizarre creatures they found there.

The morning progressed exactly as the morning before, until he arrived at the battle with the enormous rockwraith that guarded the exit to the thaig in the Deep Roads.

“So the thing is almost dead when one of the minions it called into battle trips Broody, he goes down. Hawke lets out this battle cry that would put hair on your chest,” he pauses meaningfully, hoping for a reaction. When there is none, he resigns himself to continuing, “She flies over to him, completely oblivious to the enormous creature about to smack her clear back to the surface. That leaves me to do something about it. Luckily, dwarves are very…sturdy, I crash into her, she sprawls on the ground and I get hit with the sodding thing’s arm. Did I mention it was made of rock?”

“I find that highly suspect.”

“What, that it was made of rock or that I can take a hit?”

The woman snorts, “Did you stand there and laugh in its face afterwards?”

“No,” he smiled at her sarcasm and pretended she smiled back, “it threw me across the room. Almost tore my left arm out. Landed on a stalactite…stalagmite…one of those sodding pointy things.”

“Truly?”

“Got the scar,” he turned and easily slipped his unbuttoned tunic off his left shoulder. He heard a sharp intake of breath as she saw the proof for this part of the story. There was an ugly mess of puckered and discolored skin covering most of the back of his left shoulder. “I was lucky Hawke brought Blondie…Anders with us. Probably would have lost use of my arm if she hadn’t.” There was a gentle brush of fingertips over his scar and the shock of it propelled him forward a few steps and away from it. The tingle left behind he decided was from the beating or sleeping on that cot or just about anything other than her touch on his skin. That was just too…weird.

“Well, I didn’t lose my arm,” he hastily pulled his tunic back into place and turned to face her, “but the trip back to the surface…”

There was a commotion out in the hall then the door latch rattled and a female scout burst into the room. Breathless she began, “Lady Penta…Seeker Pentaghast…”

“Nima, you’re purple…” Cassandra’s voice trailed off as she simply stared at the scout. And while she was not completely purple, the scout’s face, hair and some of her armor was splattered bright purple.

Varric fought back the laughter, but some of it escaped him. He recognized the unfortunate scout, a cheerful Ferelden woman with an easy smile who brought him dinner last night. They even had a pleasant chat before she left. At first the scout pursed her lips, attempting to be angry, but as Varric let more of the laughter escape, she joined in until the two of them were breathless.

“Shit,” Varric began as his laughter finally subsided and he wiped a teary eye, “Sorry about that, Cricket, but better you than someone who might stab more than my book.”

“You, Master Tethras, are a horrible little man.” The merriment in her eyes belied her harsh words.

Cassandra finally reacted at that, “Your task is complete?”

“Yes, there was a…”

“We shall speak of this in private.” With that, the two woman left Varric alone.

Varric sat, he fidgeted, he wandered around the room and then sat some more. When he realized he was going to be alone for awhile, he started running “Hard in Hightown” plots through his head.

Suddenly the door opened and it was a single scout, but not just any scout, one of the two thugs from his morning visits. Varric stood, raised his fists and took a defensive stance. The thug simply sneered at him and tossed a bowl and then a mug on the table in the room. The contents of the bowl sloshed all over the table, spread by the water from the upended tankard. A spoon clattered to the floor.

“Your time is almost up, dwarf.” The man left.

Varric ran though the events of the last few days. There were pieces that did not fit and pieces that did not fit tended to bite you in the ass. Suddenly those two thugs beating him every morning stood out as wrong. At first he thought they were sent to beat him as part of the questioning, but now he was sure it was something else. Everyone here was clean, friendly, polite and obviously with the Chantry. He was not chained or bound and the door to this room was never locked. Even the angry woman in charge never did anything worse to him than yell, threaten and stab a book.

But those two men were different…hard, cold, rough…something was off.

Varric eyed the door. Should he leave? Go find someone and tell them about his suspicions? He eyed the door once more as he made his decision. Just because they did not plan on hurting him did not mean they would believe him. So waiting was best. Just stay here and get Cassandra Pentaghast to listen to him. Like that was a simple thing. Not that he knew exactly what was going on or what he was going to tell her. Just that there was something going on. Probably. Maybe.

This time he paced as he eyed the door, growing more anxious and suspicious as time passed. No more running fictional scenarios through his head, since his current predicament was more interesting than some of his novels. The longer he spent in that room alone, the more he was sure there was something shady going on. It was just a feeling, but it grew as time passed.

Finally, there was a commotion on the other side of the door. Relief flooded him. Finally, time to confide his suspicions to someone. Then the door snapped wide open, banged into the wall and quivered. Cassandra was violently shoved into the room by three thugs and as she hit the floor she rolled. Varric knew without question that if her hands and feet were not shackled she would be standing in a smooth movement, as it was, her feet tangled and she remained on the ground. The two larger thugs hovered over her, keeping her in place.

The third approached him.

Varric raised his fists and settled into a defensive stance for a second time that day. He really hated fighting hand-to-hand, especially bare-handed. He was not very good at it and he tended to be more concerned with breaking his own fingers than anything else. Still, two beatings without fighting back was his limit and he could do damage when he needed to. The man approaching him dangled manacles from his hand and smirked.

“Come on, Varric, let’s do this the easy way,” Shifty taunted him.

He pretended to consider the offer, then answered, “No, I think I’ll go the hard way this time.”

“Agron,” Shifty inclined his head towards the thugs guarding Cassandra without looking away from Varric, “can you persuade our friend here?”

The larger of the two men immediately kicked Cassandra just under the ribs with a large metal-booted foot and she curled up, gasping for breath. Then he grabbed a handful of her hair, dragging her roughly towards the wall. Cassandra began to struggle in earnest while trying to catch her breath and the second thug grabbed the chain between her feet and began pulling the opposite direction, stretching her awkwardly between them.

“Stop it!” burst forth from Varric before he visibly reacted by lowering his hands, “Alright.” His shoulders slumped to indicate acquiescence.

“So you decided on the easy way after all,” Shifty gloated as he locked the manacles around Varric’s hands. “But I think you were really looking forward to the hard way. Agron, could you oblige him?”

Varric looked at the impassive wall of muscle making its way towards him.

Maker’s Balls.


	5. Escape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long for this! I got sidetracked with other hobbies and now I have another story stuck in my head. This also is getting longer than I thought....you know how stories take you. Enjoy!  
> **********

Cassandra sat up slowly once the men left the room. She inched her way across the floor to the dwarf to see how badly he was injured. The large thug smashed his fist into Varric’s face several times which was enough to render him unconscious. She still had no idea why the dwarf immediately surrendered in order to keep her from being injured further. That was…unexpected. She reached him and her hands hovered over his face, unsure where to touch him. The scar on his nose was torn and bleeding, the entire left side of his face was bright red about to turn purple and she was pretty sure his lip was split. She settled for gently tapping the right side of his jaw.

“Varric?” She tapped his face lightly three more times, “Varric?”

“Huh?” His eyes popped open, but remained unfocused. “Wha…?” He still did not move and simply groaned. “Ow.”

“Varric,” she repeated, resting her hand on his jaw and encouraging him to come out of his daze. After a few moments she saw his eyes focus on hers as he recovered his senses. He blinked a few times then gingerly sat up. They sat side-by-side, shackled arms looped around their legs without speaking.

“I do not know what is happening.” Cassandra stated bluntly, staring at the wall. She could feel Varric fidgeting next to her and hear the chains on his wrists clanking. “We must work together. Even though I know you have no reason to trust me, we are in great danger.”

A loud sound of metal on stone startled her and she turned to the man seated next to her. His hands were free and the manacles were on the floor. Varric sat there idly spinning a small metal rod though the fingers of his right hand.

“Would you like those removed?” He grinned at her and she made a short amused noise. Before she could answer him properly, he grasped her forearm gently and with a few quick twists of the small rod, the manacle slipped open. The remainder of her bindings also gave him no trouble.

The dwarf stood carefully and with a slight flourish held his hand to her. “Yeah, yeah, I’m ridiculous,” he said quietly and his chuckle was muted to a pleasant rumble. As he helped her stand, he swayed and paused a moment to steady himself. He walked over to the door and Cassandra trailed after him, content to follow him while she contemplated their means of escape. “This lock is no problem,” he said to her after briefly examining the door, “but we should have some sort of plan before we open it.”

“Agreed. There is an entrance to some old tunnels from the wine cellar.” Cassandra paused to remember more, “I believe they open not too far outside the city. At the edge of the coast.”

“Sounds promising.” He looked thoughtful for a moment, but still kept his voice low, “Can’t your men handle these guys?”

“There are no men.” He looked to her questioningly and she tried to explain, “Lelianna, my associate, requested that I send what I could from the garrison. The only thing we are doing here is questioning you, so...”

“What? I don’t rate a full garrison?”

“…so I sent all of them to her.” She ignored his interruption and continued, “Clearly not the best decision I’ve made.”

“Clearly.”

Cassandra glared at him and he chuckled when their eyes met. His cheerful mood was as infectious as it was inappropriate. She fought the urge to smile and barely succeeded.

“Can I get my hands on Bianca?” he suddenly turned serious again.

“I believe so. Your belongings are in a room along this corridor. I was about to examine them when all this happened.”

“Can’t wait to get your hands on my goods?“ He made it sound vaguely suggestive, but continued before she could chastise him, “What about you? Can you get a weapon?”

“That would prove to be more difficult. My room and the armory are in the opposite direction.”

“Shit,” he looked at the lock and readied himself, “Ok, time to do this.”

Cassandra gave him a short nod and with a quick motion his deft hands had the door open. As soundless as possible they headed down the corridor towards the cellar. At the last door on the right just before the stairs, Cassandra cautiously entered, signaling for Varric to follow. She left the door cracked open to keep watch while he gathered up his equipment behind her.

“Bianca! Sweetheart!” At that quiet exclamation, she turned to look at the dwarf and watched as he ran his hands over his crossbow. Then she realized his motions were a little too intimate, as if greeting a long lost friend. Or perhaps a lover. She quickly turned away, turning pink as she heard him crooning to it.

“Varric!” she said firmly, “We have little time.”

“Fine, fine.” She heard him gearing up as she kept watch. A few moments later he said, “Let’s go.”

Cassandra turned and studied Varric for several moments. He was wearing his leather duster and armored gloves with the crossbow slung across his back, all of which added to his bulk. The cut on his nose and the darkened bruise on his face gave him a dangerous edge not apparent before. Up until this point, she assumed he was simply a novelist who trailed around after the Champion, scribbling down adventures and adding himself to them for amusement. Looking at him now there was no doubt that this man fought alongside the Champion for several years.

How did she miss that?

Cassandra faced the door and motioned to Varric to follow her out into the hall once again. As they reached the turn at the end of the corridor, a man coming around the corner practically crashed into them. All three stood motionless for a few seconds.

Warriors always recognize warriors as Cassandra and the man squared off against one another. The man smirked and reached for the sword at his side. Cassandra readied herself for a difficult, but not impossible fight. Before they could determine who would win this battle, there was a spray of blood as the man clutched his throat and collapsed. She was startled, but wasted no time kneeling down and retrieving the man’s sword. At the same time, Varric also kneeled and retrieved a small dagger from the wound. His face scrunched up in disgust as he wiped it clean and sheathed it.

Without a word, they turned right at the end of the corridor and made their way down the stairs. Cassandra quickly crossed through the wine cellar, ignoring the wealth of alcohol Meredith saved for herself and loyal Templars. Varric was the opposite, the further he progressed through the cellar, the slower he moved forward. Finally, he stopped walking and stared longingly at a bottle on one of the lower shelves. She hissed to get his attention and when he looked up, she inclined her head angrily at a door behind some large storage barrels. The dwarf sighed and joined her.

Once again, the lock was no match for Varric’s skill. They quickly made their way through the door, but when Cassandra reached the bottom of the stairs, Varric was no longer at her side. She looked up at the door and saw him bent over, fussing with something. She was about to climb the stairs to retrieve him when he raised a hand, palm out, in the symbol to stop. She halted and watched him fuss again, this time at something near the hinge of the door, then he made his way down to her. The grin on his face made it clear his preparations did not bode well for whoever followed them through that door.

They continued on in strangely companionable silence and Cassandra wondered at that. She never made friends easily, in fact, barely ever. Here she was with a man she barely knew, a prisoner, someone who probably hated her…and yet she was comfortable with him by her side. She glanced at the dwarf quickly to be sure he suspected none of her musings. Varric remained blissfully unawares.

A loud crash, followed by shouting echoed through the narrow tunnel from behind them. The two looked at each other and silently agreed to pick up the pace. Varric’s chuckle was a simple deep rumble and Cassandra smiled, picturing the men chasing them tumbling down the stairs and landing in a heap. Then she noticed Varric wincing and struggling to keep up with her. They were not going to stay ahead of their pursuers for long.

Then the narrow tunnel opened into a wide room and Cassandra discovered why they did not need torches. The ambient light from hundreds of deep mushrooms filling the cavern was one of the most beautiful sights in Thedas. Both Cassandra and Varric stopped and stared at the blue glow as it lightly pulsed and shifted to a purple hue. All thoughts of flight momentarily forgotten.

“Oh,” Cassandra let out in awe as Varric smiled softly up at her. She just simply stared at the mushrooms, completely transfixed and did not notice the dwarf staring at her, equally transfixed. It was magical and romantic and…footsteps echoed through the tunnel, breaking the spell. The angry mask she normally wore fell back across her features as she moved quickly into the cavern.

Barely halfway through the large room, there was a shout behind her, “There she is!” She turned to face the voice and then realized Varric was gone. Distracted from the impending confrontation, she glanced around searching for him, but he was nowhere. Just gone.

_Sneaky little bastard! S_ he thought to herself. _So handsome…so charming... When did she ever fall for that? How did it happen so fast? Why did it matter so much this time?_ Even as the questions swirled through her head, she ran the closest attacker through. Her skill combined with the fury on her features gave the others pause. At the edge of her vision she saw a few archers setting and taking aim. How she needed a shield!

Cassandra retrained her focus on the three men attempting to surround her, but remained aware of the archers further away. Without a shield this was going to be very difficult. An unfamiliar mechanical sound echoed through the cavern as one of the archers cried out in pain and dropped to the ground. The strange mechanical sound reverberated twice more in rapid succession and the remaining two archers fell. The three men near her paused at the commotion and she took advantage of their distraction and disarmed one of them. That grabbed their attention and the fight resumed. Now there were more attackers filing into the cavern and she glimpsed Varric for a moment before he disappeared back into the shadows.

This was the worst place for a fight. What she would not give to be in the tunnel where she could face them one at a time. They realized her vulnerability and the new arrivals started to flank her.

Suddenly, Varric appeared in front of her, slightly breathless, grinning and obviously enjoying himself. He spun to face her attackers and announced, “Here we go!” Then he flung his arms wide and dozens of small objects bounced and clattered across the ground. Just as suddenly, he was gone.

Cassandra and her enemies all paused, mystified by the dwarf’s actions. Before any of them fully recovered, she was tackled and thrown to the ground. She struggled against the new threat, a heavy weight she soon realized was Varric laying on top of her.

“Sorry,” he mumbled into the side of her neck, his short beard brushed the side of her face and every part of her froze. The sensation was neither scratchy nor soft and far too intimate. Then he placed a gloved hand over her eyes and she determined she had enough – as happy…relieved, definitely relieved, as she was to see him – she needed to recover her sword and finish this fight. She braced her hands on his shoulders and prepared to give him a hard shove, hoping she was strong enough to dislodge him, but then explosions erupted nearby and the push turned into a grasp. She held on to the lapels of his coat with both hands even as she noticed he used both of his hands to shield her face.

Cassandra felt her heart hammering wildly in her chest. She hoped it was from the interrupted battle. She hoped it was from the sudden explosions. What she really hoped was that it was NOT from Varric’s face, especially his mouth, pressed against the side of her neck.

And Cassandra, who was always so sure of everything, was suddenly so very unsure. That was…unacceptable.


End file.
